


The Note

by Black_Rose_117



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Rose_117/pseuds/Black_Rose_117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fight between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, Sherlock leaves with only a note behind him. After a while, Sherlock comes back to find John missing. Can Sherlock deduce where he had gone before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anyone, just having fun. :p
> 
> This was an earlier fic that I wrote when I was just starting out. Not the best, I re-read the whole thing and I'm thinking of maybe one day re-writng it. But for now, enjoy, comment, hate, love, you decide :)

"Hey you." John said weakly, walking out to the living room and slumping down into the seat across from Sherlock. 

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, a little out of it, his fingers pressed together and raised to his lips. 

"Not great... But well enough. Yourself?" John asked, closing his eyes and willing away the pain that pounded dully in the back of his skull.

"Like your lying to me." Sherlock said simply, lowering his hands and sitting up, looking deadly into John's eyes.

"Huh?" John asked dully, opening his eyes and staring at Sherlock quizzically.

"You're rubbing your temples, indicating a pain in your head; you're eyes are shut, more then likely to black out the light, again, headache looking likely; plus your body is tense. Headache, John?" Sherlock asked, even though John knew he already knew the answer.

"Yes..." Joan moaned, rubbing his temples. John sat back in his chair and closed his eyes again.

Suddenly, John's lips were covered.  He opened his eyes slightly to see Sherlock's face, his eyes closed and relaxed. John's never seen his eyes, or any part of him really, so relaxed. His hand found the back of his neck and wrapped his long, gentle fingers around it. He pulled him closer as he kissed him. John's headache still pounded in the back of his skull and it still blinded him with pain, but he tried to put up with it.

It became overwhelming and he broke away from Sherlock's wonderful lips, letting out a slight moaning scream. Sherlock, who he could now tell was on his hands and knees on the arm rests of the chair, looked at John worriedly. He closed his eyes again and he felt his long, gentle finger brush his cheek. 

"What can I do?" He whispered. "This is hurting me..."

John's heart dropped. -I am... hurting him..?- John thought sadly. John stood, pushing Sherlock out of the way, and left the room. Sherlock stood there, watching after him, confused on what happened.

"Did I... do something..?" Sherlock wondered out loud. 

Sadly, he sat in John's chair and started to think.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, John came out of his room. He had napped and the pain in his skull has subsided to a low humm. He went to the living room, expecting to see Sherlock sitting in his chair, thinking.

"Hey ba-" John stopped, seeing Sherlock standing by the door in his coat, fixing his scarf. 

Sherlock stopped, dropping his hands into his pockets, and nodded towards the table where a note lay, then, he left. John heard the door shut behind him and stood there for a moment before going over and unfolding the note. It was scribbled in Sherlock's messy curly handwriting.

John,  
I told you I wasn't an ideal mate. I thought I could learn... But this is just one thing, I guess, that my mind can't wrap around. I apologize. I never should have asked you out. You never should have said yes... I'm overly joyed that we could date, even for that short time that we could. I obviously made you angry today, though. I never wanted to hurt you. John, I do love you. I love you every second of every day. but, if your happier without me... I don't know, John, and thats what scares me!! When I think of you, I can't concentrate on anything! i guess this is best... for the both of us.. The flat is yours, the papers are yours, take everything John. 

I'm not coming back.  
-SH.

-He's not... Coming back...- John thought slowly. His heart stopped and he sprinted down the stairs and out of the flat. He looked wildly up and down the sidewalk. 

"Sherlock!" He yelled, his heart pounding in his ears. "Sherlock!!"

With no answer, his heart beating in his throat, he whipped out his cell phone and dialed Sherlock's number. It rang twice, then went to voice mail. 

"Sherlock Holmes. Don't waste your breath." Said the voice, followed by a beep. 

John stood there for a minute, listening to the silence on the other end of the line, then hung up. It only rang twice... was his phone off? John flagged down a taxi and went to the only place John could thick of that Sherlock would go. 

The lab

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Molly!!" John called, seeing her down the hallway, about to enter a room. 

She stopped and let the door close in front of her, looking at John, who was running towards her. 

"Molly..." John panted, halting in front of her. "Molly... Please tell me... Sherlock... Is here..."

"Uh... No, I don't believe so... If he is, I haven't seen him. Is everything okay, John?"

"Damn it..." John cursed, putting his hands on his hands on his hips and looking around. "I can't find him anywhere!"

"Well, you know thats nothing to worry about. He disappears all the time, remember? He'll be back."

Those last words tugged at a string of John's heart. "No." He whispered. "He wont..." 

"What? What do you mean he won't? He won't be back?" Molly asked, fear striking in her eyes. 

John handed her the note and, as she read, her eyes grew wide.

"John..." She whispered, folding the note back up. "I'm... I'm so sorry..."

"Now do you see why I have to find him?"

She just nodded. Then, without warning, she hugged John around the neck. It's been a while since he had a hug... from a girl. He slowly wrapped his arms around her middle. She kissed him on the cheek, and thats what made John push her off.

"Please don't..." John muttered.

"I-I'm sorry..." Then, her head hanging, she walked away.

"Molly!" John called out of impulse, guilt pulling at his heart.

She turned around and looked at him. He walked up to her and pecked her on the cheek. "Thank you." He whispered, then he left.

Beep. John dug out his phone as Molly walked away, smiling.

Have a nice life with Molly.  
It's obvious you like each other.  
~SH.

John looked around wildly. Where was he, he must of been here! He must still be here.

Where are you?! Please, Sherlock... We need to talk!!  
~JW

No.  
-SH.

John called Sherlock's phone again. Two rings, then voice mail. 

"Sherlock Holmes. Stop wasting your time."

It had changed...

Stop calling me...  
-SH.

Not until we talk!  
-JW

His phone remained silent. Sherlock never texted back. 

Please, Sherlock...  
_JW

Theres nothing to say.  
-SH

Obviously there is!  
-JW

Then say it. Right now.  
-SH

No.  
-JW

See?  
-SH

No. I need to say it to -you- Sherlock, not some electrical device.  
-JW

What you can tell me to my face you can tell me via text message.  
-SH

No, love can't be read in some stupid text message, Sherlock  
-JW

His phone was quiet for a few minutes. Had he left again? Then... Beep.

221B Baker Street.  
‹3 SH

A heart? A heart? A heart? Less-then-three heart? From Sherlock? He knew that?

John ran to the nearest cab.

"Where to?" Asked the driver.

"Baker Street." John said quickly.

"I think not, John."

John looked up to see James Moriarty sitting in the drivers seat. He laughed as they burned rubber flying down the street, away from 221B.


	2. Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Might as well finish updating this :p
> 
> I wrote this a long time ago, just so you know!

"Where are you taking me, Moriarty?!" John yelled as they weaved through the traffic.

Sirens screamed behind them and Moriarty just ticked his tongue in disappointment.

"Silly police want to play. Sad." He shook his head. He picked up the radio in the cab and pressed the button. "Ohh boys~ Someone wants to play~." He said in a sing-song voice. "Eliminate them."

"No!" John shouted as one by one, shots were heard and the police cars crashed into each other.

They turned a corner almost on two wheels and the pile-up was out of sight. John turned back to Moriarty in anger.

"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!" He shouted, his heart pounding.

He was at the mercy of a psychopath.

"Oh, Johnny~" Moriarty sang. "Johnny~ Johnny~ Johnny~ Where else but as far away from your beloved Sherlock as possible? You did the hard part for me, made him mad at you. What did you do anyway? I applaud you, he seemed steamed!"

"I-I don't know..." John said through clenched teeth, leaning back in his seat slightly.

-Sherlock- The thought dawned on him. -He's waiting for me at 221B...-

Beep.

His phone!

"On your phone, Johnny? Thats rude." Moriarty said from the rearview mirror.

"No. Of course not." John smiled at Moriarty forcefully, hiding his phone behind the front seat.

Abandon me? :(  
3 SH

Sherlock... you have to help me...  
-JW

He silenced his phone.

What?! Are you okay?  
-SH

Moriarty.  
-JW

Is...?  
-SH

Has me. Please, help!  
-JW

Where are you?  
-SH

No idea.  
-JW

"Now, Johnny boy, it's not nice to use your phone while we're talking." Moriarty said, looking in the mirror at John.

"Just clearing messages, sorry." Johnny muttered, uncaringly.

Just keep your phone on.  
On my way.  
‹3 Sherlock

John stuck his phone in his pocket, keeping it on.

"Are you going to tell me what you have planned for me, Moriarty?" John asked in clenched teeth.

"I figure just keep driving. Get to know each other. At least, until you annoy me enough that I want to kill you." Moriarty smiled evilly. 

In his pocket, John dialed Sherlock's number, keeping the ear piece covered to muffle any sort of 'hello' Sherlock may have.

"Kill me?" John asked, making sure to speak loud enough that the phone will hear him.

"Well, of course." ("John?" Came from the phone just then.) "Why would I keep you around, Johnny? I see no need for a house pet, unlike Sherlock did." Moriarty laughed.

Oh that laugh. Annoying.

"What would annoy you enough as to bring you to kill me?"

"Oh, you're getting there." Moriarty said, smile fading.

"Why do you want me so far from Sherlock? He's already mad at me... I don't even know why...." John said, careful not to annoy Moriarty any more.

"Because, dear John, we both know darling Sherlock can't stay mad at you forever. He would be back for you. If you're not there, think how hurt he'll be. Think how venerable he'll be. It would be the opportunity I would need to finally kill Sherlock Holmes myself. And think, John, now maybe you can even watch your ex-lovers death."

"'Ex-lovers?'" John asked. "What do you-?"

"That note, John, you carry around in your pocket. The one scribbled in Sherlock's messy handwriting. It's obvious isn't it?"

John staid quiet. He had no idea where Moriarty was going with this. How did he know about the note?

"I read it, Johnny, over your shoulder in your flat. Cameras, easy really. It's obviously a break up letter. Sadly enough though, I wasn't monitoring the camera when you pissed Sherlock off. Pity. But it's obvious you two are done. Sherlock has moved on. He no longer needs you, so he thinks. I know what you're thinking. 'But Moriarty, if he's moved on, why are you taking me away from him in order to break him apart? It doesn't make sense.' Well, Johnny, he'll come to his senses sooner or later. But you won't be there~ Johnny and Sherlock are no longer a couple~ The famous couple are no longer two~ They are done, they are through~ And this will be the death of the famous two~" Moriarty sang, a hearty laugh ending the tune.

-We're... Broken up..?- John thought sadly. 

He hung up his phone and turned it all the way off. 

-Maybe he shouldn't find me...-


	3. Sherlock

"John?" Sherlock asked slowly, the phone holding a long steady beep, indicating the ended call.

Sherlock opened the laptop and quickly started entering codes and numbers, trying to track John's phone. 

'This phone is unavailable' the screen read. Sherlock pounded the desk with his fist. He turned his bloody phone off.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair. He never should have written that note. Never should have broken up with John. 

"Damn it..." Sherlock muttered.

He stood and paced the room, fingers pressed to his lips, thinking. Moriarty wouldn't be so stupid as to leave his phone on. Was there anyway to track the car? No... Not unless he had specific information, which he didn't. What? What could he use?! There had to be somethi-

Sherlock stopped pacing and removed his hands from his mouth, an idea dawning on him. Of course! Moriarty had said it himself! Cameras, easy!

And so started the search. Bookshelves, skull, fire place, computer, stacks of paper; everywhere. Nothing. 

"Where..." Sherlock muttered, glancing around. "Moriarty read the note over John's shoulder. The table is there and the note I placed was just there.... In order to read it over his shoulder from that angle would have to be the ceiling... but no... It's not... Unless... He turned, thus making the camera...." He stared at the portrait of the skull that hung on the wall as a glint of a lens flashed from the skull's eye socket. "Brilliant..." Sherlock muttered, pulling it out.

He quickly walked over to his laptop and hooked up the camera. Now, he just needed to track the video source back to the computer, where ever the computer was, was surely where Moriarty would be; and where there was Moriarty...

...There was John...

He typed quickly, entering codes and numbers and names once again, opening window after window until finally, a map appeared with a flashing red dot.

"Got 'cha..." Sherlock muttered under his breath with a sneer.

He transferred the data onto his phone and grabbed his coat and scarf. He called Lesrade as he tied his scarf. 

"Sherlock?" Lestrade answered.

"Listen to me, come to my place, immediately. In a cop car, we need to move fast, I'll explain when you get here."

"On my way." Then the line went dead.

Sherlock closed the door behind him and watched the red dot flying down the roads.

"Don't worry, John." Sherlock whispered to that blinking dot. "I'm coming."


	4. Race Against Time

"He has... John..?" Lestrade asked, slowly, looking at Sherlock from the drivers seat.

The sirens screamed as they raced down the road, Sherlock not taking his eyes off the blinking red dot.

"Take the next left, then right." Sherlock said, finding the shortest, fastest route he could to John.

It was now a race against time. Lestrade made a wide left then turned right and continued speeding down the road.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. We'll get him back. 

"It doesn't matter." Sherlock said slowly.

Lestrade glanced at Sherlock, shocked. "but aren't you two dating?"

Sherlock sighed and looked at Lestrade.

"Were." He said slowly. "I kind of made a mistake."

"John broke up with you?" Lestrade asked, sympathy dripping from his voice.

"Nah." Sherlock sighed. "I broke up with him."

"Why? Weren't you the one who asked -him- out?"

Sherlock looked back down at the monitor. "Yes. I did. He pushed me away while I was kissing him. He pushed me off him then walked away. I thought I did something wrong and that he would be happier without me. So I wrote him a note and left, saying I'd never be back. Looking back at it now, I wish I never did that. I... Never mind..."

"You what, Sherlock?"

"I'm in love with him... And now his life is in danger because of me..."

"I've never seen you like this, Sherlock." 

"I've never felt like this, Lestrade." Sherlock watched the blinking dot for a few moments. "Next right, take it."

They raced down the, dodging traffic and letting the screaming sirens above fill the silence. Sherlock's mind was racing. What if they didn't find John in time? What if Moriarty kills him when Sherlock finds them, right in front of Sherlock's eyes?

What if they are already too late...?


	5. John

The cab came to a halt in front of a big, metal wear house. The air smelled of musk, and fog was setting in in the dim light of midnight. John saw a full moon overhead as a howl, wolf of some sort, echoed through the musky, foggy atmosphere. It wasn't all too cold for John, with his jacket and button down shirt, but still, goosebumps rose along John's arms, the hairs on the back of his neck raising.

"Welcome to our new home, Johnny." Moriarty smiled as two men yanked John from the car. "Make him nice and snug and throw him in that cooler we found."

The two men dragged John roughly inside, tied him up so the ropes wrapped around and around his torso, making it unable for him to move, and threw him in an old walk-in cooler. The door shut and locked from the outside ("Damn." John cursed.) and slowly the temperature dropped till it hit about 20 degrees. John's breath was visible every time he breathed. He knew he couldn't stay in here for all too long, knowing his body would slowly shut down. To protect his core (heart, lungs, etc.), the limbs would give up their heat, making them useless, to keep his heart going. They would do this until he could never use them again.

Moriarty was slowly killing him.

"Bloody bastard." John muttered under his breath, struggling against the ropes.

It was no good. The ropes were too tight to move very much as all. The more John struggled, the tighter they seemed to have get.

"Sherlock..." John said softly, leaning back against the wall, feeling his feet quickly growing numb. "Please... help..."

He felt consciousness leaving him and, although he fought it, knowing passing out wouldn't be good, everything went black as he hit the cold, hard ground.


	6. The Final Goodbye

"This the place, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, getting out of the car and watching Sherlock check his phone. 

"Yes, theres the cab." Sherlock nodded.

"Must have been one hell of a bill." Lestrade said. Sherlock shot him a look and Lestrade just shrugged. "Shall we go in?"

"Yes, but let's stay out of sight. Moriarty is still here and I don't want us rescuing John to be the end of him."

Lestrade nodded and they entered the building. It was large and chilled in the wear house, it was dark, but using flashlights would only increase their chances of getting caught. Lestrade tugged on Sherlock's sleeve to get him close and whisper in his ear.

"Sherlock, we're in an old abandoned slaughter house."

Sherlock looked up to see the big heavy machines and conveyor belt with hooks to hang the meat. There was old blood stains scattered around anywhere from the hooks to the walls to even the ceiling. Sherlock shuttered, just imagining what Moriarty could do to John.

What he could -be- doing to John...

"Keep your eyes pealed, Watch for any sign of movement, and stay in the shadows." Sherlock whispered back, then slipped himself into a dark corner.

With his black outfit and dark blue scarf, he seemed completely hidden except for his brilliantly radiating skin tone and wonderful grey/blue eyes. Lestrade slipped into the darkness and followed the nonexistent sound of Sherlock.

"Let's play our little friend a visit, shall we?"

Sherlock stuck out his arm and Lestrade stopped in his tracks. It was Moriarty and one of his big men who was walking beside him.

"Can I just kill him boss?" The big man said, pounding his fist into the palm of his hand.

"Later. For now, let's have a little fun. Make him squirm~." Moriarty laughed as the man joined in.

"John..." Sherlock breathed, then he was off, moving quickly under the cloak of shadow.

He heard Lestrade barely whisper his name, but he didn't care. His heart was pounding and all he could think of was getting to John before they could. 

He came to a halt and pressed his back against the wall that rounded into a corner. He could hear Moriarty and his man walking just on the other side. He head a door open and dared to take a peek around, just as Moriarty stepped into a room and the big, metal door closed behind him.

He stood there for a few minutes in silence, then heard a scream coming from inside. A scream... -His- scream. -John's- scream. He sounded like he was in pain.

"Where's Sherlock?!" He heard Moriarty scream from the room. "Why isn't he still in 221B?! How did he know about the camera?!" 

"I don't know!" John yelled, his voice cracking. Sherlock could tell he was crying. "I don't... Know..."

Sherlock's heart broke. John was hurting and it was all Sherlock's fault.

"Go get the guns!" Moriarty yelled at his man.

Sherlock hid behind the wall again as the man exited from the room. With the opening of the door, Sherlock could hear the full extent of John's wails. Sobbing. Because of Sherlock.

The note... The voicemails... The text messages...

The final goodbye...

Sherlock's anger rose quickly, his breathing deepened, his chest heaving. Before he could stop himself, he stormed through the shadows and threw open the door that separated him and John. He strode in, staying in the shadows of the tall stacks of boxes that surrounded him.

John was spiraled out on the ground at Moriarty's feet, his face red with his blood. His left eye was growing black and blue and swollen. He couldn't even look up at Sherlock, he just staid on the ground, crying, tied up.

"Sher-Sherlock..." John whimpered, tears streaking his beautiful face.

Sherlock raised his gun and pointed it at Moriarty's head, stepping out of the shadows.

"Step away... from... John..." Sherlock growled.

"Awwww, is Sherlock trying to kill me? Sherlock's going to kill me~ Sherlock's going to kill me~" Moriarty sang then gave a hearty laugh. "Well, thats too bad. As always, Sherlock, I am one step ahead of you."

"How. So?" Sherlock growled through clenched teeth. 

Then he heard it, behind him, the click of a gun, loading, being readied to fire. Pointed at Sherlock.

"Shoot me, and you will both be dead." Moriarty smiled.

"Just let John go. Take me, I'm the one you want, not him..." At this, Moriarty just laughed.

"Sher-Sherlock..." John moaned again, tears still streaking his face as he sobbed from pain.

"Oh, shut up." Moriarty said, kicking John in the ribs roughly. Sherlock snarled, steadying his gun. "One wrong move and you'll be dead."

Sherlock's grip on the gun tightened, his snarl growing. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it in his throat. He was sure Moriarty could hear it even over John's sobbing. Sherlock managed to sneak a glance down at him. His face was bleeding and covered in tears and bruises. He looked so innocent, so scared. So... un-John like. John always held that strong solider feel, but him lying on the ground like that, sobbing, bleeding, it wasn't him. It wasn't solider-John in this room, it was normal human-John. It wasn't the John Sherlock brought along with him on cases, but the John Sherlock curled up with at night, kissed and loved on each day in the privacy of their flat. The John Sherlock worried about the most. When he was broken down this much, everything had to be wrong.

"Sherlock..." Moriarty said, taking steps closer, snapping Sherlock's attention back, getting in his face. "I'm going to kill you now. But first, John. Pass me the gun." The man passed Moriarty a small hand gun. "Any last words, John, to your dear Sherlock Holmes?"

John, eyes closed, opened his mouth as if to speak, only to have a small whimper escape his lips. So un-like John... Heartbreaking...

Moriarty clicked the gun, pointing it at John's head, his finger on the trigger. Slowly, he start to pull. 

"No!" Sherlock yelled, his heart racing. Moriarty stopped, mid pull, and looked, quizzically, at Sherlock, eye brows raised. "Please..." Sherlock slowly lowered the gun, his knees felt weak. They wobbled and caved from under him, making him fall to his hands. He felt so weak, so heartbroken. "Take me... Please, let John go... He has nothing to do with any of this... I dragged him into this mess and he deserves to live... Please, Moriarty... Please..." Sherlock's voice cracked.

So weak...

He never felt like this. This heartbroken, this weak. This exposed. He felt his eyes began to water and he looked at John, who was staring at him, still crying. 

"I'm sorry..." Sherlock whispered to John.

The explosion of a gun shattered the nearly silent wear house. A few seconds later, another. One body hit the ground, one gun slid to a wall. 

"James Moriarty, you are under arrest!" Lestrade said angrily, gun raised.

Sherlock stared at Lestrade for a moment, then at the body of the man, then at the de-armed Moriarty, who now had his hands in the air. As Lestrade cuffed him, Sherlock crawled over to John, sat him up and started working at the knot. John's shoulders heaved still, he was in shock. Sherlock unwrapped the ropes from around him, noticing all the rope burns and dug in markings. John sobbed silently as the ropes fell off and Sherlock turned John towards him, having him sit on his knees as he pulled him into his embrace.

"John... John..." Sherlock muttered, unable to stop saying the name. He tangled his fingers into John's hair and rested his head on John's shoulder. "Solider... Solider..."

John's arms wrapped around Sherlock, pulling him closer. John's skin was cold to the touch. His embrace, warm. Tears fell onto Sherlock's shoulder, as John tried to calm down. They staid that way for a long while, Sherlock petting John and whispered to him, John holding Sherlock trying to calm down and focus on Sherlock's voice, here and now.

Now and forever.


	7. Together

John and Sherlock sat on opposite sides of the room, sipping tea that John had made them. It was silent in the flat, no noise. Sherlock glanced at John from his arm chair and noticed that steady hand of his was shaking.

"You alright, John?" Sherlock asked, looking at the solider and sipping his tea.

John sighed and placed his tea back in the saucer. He shook his head. "No... Sherlock I'm not. That note..."

"John..." Sherlock said sadly, placing his tea in it's saucer as well and setting it on the table.

"No, Sherlock, let me finish!!" John slammed the saucer back on the table. "You wrote me a bloody note and left, leaving me to be kidnapped by Moriarty. You broke up with me, stabbed me in the heart, and I almost got killed! -We- almost got killed! I almost lost you completely! I can't even -look- at you without felling like I'm going to die! Without you I'm..." John stopped yelling and noticed he was on his feet. He stared at the ground. "I'm... I'm nothing, Sherlock..." 

Sherlock just watched John, who slumped into his chair behind him and hid his face. Sherlock stood and put on his coat and scarf. John heard a door shut and looked up, eyes watering, no Sherlock in sight.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John sat in his room, window open, feeling the cool evening breeze on his wet face. Why did Sherlock have to do this to him? He never crys when his girlfriends end it with him.

But Sherlock isn't like any of the girls he's dated.

He heard rustling in the kitchen of glass wear and his heart dropped.

He was back. 

"John?" Sherlock's voice called. "John!?" Closer to his door. The door knob twisted and Sherlock was standing there in the door frame. "John, come out to the kitchen, I-"

"No." John said whipping his eyes, folding his arms across his chest, then laying down on the bed.

"John..."

"No..."

"Babe..." Sherlock's voice was covered in lust.

"Not you're babe anymore, remember? Besides, I'm not moving."

"Fine, you don't have to!" Sherlock said.

He stormed over to the side of John's bed, and scooped a bewildered (and protesting) John into his arms.

"Sherlock!" John began as Sherlock started towards the hallway.

"Shhhh." Sherlock hushed as they entered the kitchen. "Look."

John looked over to see the candle lit dinner Sherlock had fixed him when he first asked him out. Sherlock set him down feet first and led him over to a seat, pulling it out for him. He took the seat across from John.

"Sherlock... What is all of th-"

"John..." Sherlock took John's hand from across the table. "I'm sorry. I'm honestly truly sorry. I've hurt you and put you in danger, two things I never wanted to do. John, you're my life. I know I'm not good at being a boyfriend. I know I'm still learning. But John, you said it yourself too, without you, I am nothing. Please, John, let me make it up to you. Take me back? Please, John, take me back..."

John sat there speechless. Sherlock's hand squeezed his lightly. A thousand thoughts raced threw John's mind, so much so he actually felt dizzy. What should he say?

"John..?" John snapped back and looked at Sherlock. His eyes were watering. "I've never felt like this... Never had these feelings. It's different, it's weird, it's exciting! It's because of you. Back in the slaughter house, when I heard you sobbing, I couldn't control my anger. Moriarty... I've never been so out of control of my actions, I've never felt like that. Anger, pain, depression, regret. Seeing you like that... Killed me... I never want to see you like that... never want to see you like -this- again. I hurt you, I know... Tell me what I have to do... To get you back..."

"Sherlock..." John squeezed Sherlock's hand in return. "Come."

John stood and, Sherlock following him, hands together, led him to the couch. John turned Sherlock to face him, Sherlock's back to the couch.

"Sherlock..." John whispered as he hugged Sherlock. Before he knew it, Sherlock's back hit the sofa, John on top of him. John's body pinned Sherlock's body against the sofa, him unable to move. John kissed him once, slowly, moving his mouth open and closed to bring Sherlock into a deeper kiss.

Sherlock was in heaven, John on top of him, kissing him, taking control. Sherlock let his tongue slide up and press against John's lips, forcing them open. John moaned in surprise as Sherlock's tongue penetrated his lips, filling his mouth. It tasted like mint. Mint, and tea, with a slight hint of coffee. Fantastic! 

"Yes..." John moaned as he pulled away then hungrily attacked Sherlock's lips again.

"Humm?" Sherlock asked in a moan.

"Yes. I'll take you back." John muttered, twitting his fingers in Sherlock's amazing, soft hair.

Slowly, John started to unbutton Sherlock's tight, purple shirt, the one that hugged his body so perfectly in all the right places. He wanted to see Sherlock, see his perfect abs and body features.

Sherlock stopped him half way down.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock asked slowly.

-That's right...- John thought slowly. -Sherlock has never had sex...-


	8. Sofa Sex

Slowly, John started to unbutton Sherlock's tight, purple shirt, the one that hugged his body so perfectly in all the right places. He wanted to see Sherlock, see his perfect abs and body features.

Sherlock stopped him half way down.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock asked slowly.

-That's right...- John thought slowly. -Sherlock has never had sex...- 

John looked down at his vergin, whose shirt still hugged around his waist, perfectly outlining his abs. He wanted to see under that shirt, under those pants, even under that underwear, all that hugged his perfectly sexy body. How could someone not fall head-over-heals in love with this beautiful man? He was the definition of both handsome and sexy.

-And he's mine!- John thought hungrily as he licked his lips, the taste of Sherlock lingering teasingly on his tongue.

"Sherlock... I want to make you mine..." John whispered, stealing a glance at Sherlock's partly exposed body.

"But I am yours, John. You are my boyfriend, and I, yours." Sherlock beamed up at John, making John's hunger grow.

He licked his lips again.

"No, Sherlock..." John whispered, coating his words in lust. John's hand slowly slide down to between Sherlock's legs, fingering small, light circles on the inside of his thigh. "You're not yet..."

Sherlock shot John a quizzical look. John stumped the most brilliant man in London. 

In the world.

And it felt amazing.

he started to unbutton the last couple buttons and Sherlock grabbed his hands, his eyes flashing fear. 

"Trust me babe..." John whispered into Sherlock's ear so softly.

Sherlock studied John's gaze, his wanting, hungry gaze. Slowly his grip released until John could continue down the tight purple button-up. John pressed his lips against Sherlock's and smiled as his lips formed into his. John loved this man, he wanted to leave his make. Make it so he could never leave him. Make it so Sherlock could never go to anyone else.

Gently, John striped Sherlock of his shirt. He never noticed how tight it was around his biceps. John backed up to look at Sherlock's perfect upper half. His body was so perfectly defined. His abs were perfect, so visible and muscular. His arms were so strong, he had no idea seeing they were always covered. Hell, even his neck muscles were sexy and defined. John bit his lip as he watched Sherlock's perfect pecks raise and fall as Sherlock breathed. How could someone this sexy exist?

John kissed Sherlock's lips then started down his body. Neck, chest, then abs. he paused, his hands resting on the curve of Sherlock's perfect form. His tongue flickered out and ran along Sherlock's defined abs. 

Sherlock took a deep breath in pleasure. Why did this do this to him? His heart rate raced, he felt his face turn red, himself lose control. John had him in his spell and damn did he love it! Sherlock felt a cold brush of air hit his wet abdomens as John pulled away and started to undo Sherlock's pants, which were soon on the floor along with Sherlock's shirt, John's shirt, jacket, pants, and both of their underwear. They were both on the couch, naked, John's hips and legs holding Sherlock's down, and John hovering over Sherlock (who was slightly in shock) in a sort of half push-up. 

He and John were both getting hard, Sherlock could tell when John pressed his hips into Sherlock's, staring into his eyes for any indication of enjoyment.

Bliss.

Sherlock actually wanted more (damn these humanly needs) as John ground against Sherlock, going onto his elbows so he was closer too Sherlock's face. John kissed Sherlock and, still grinding, went down to bite Sherlock's neck. He sucked on his detective's neck, listening to Sherlock moan in pain and excitement. John bit a little harder and sucked more. He wanted a nice dark mark on this man's neck, and not just one either.

After John made at least three more marks, he came back and hungrily indulged in Sherlock's lips. 

"Sherlock..." John moaned as he felt Sherlock's hard dick against his. John ground against Sherlock a little more as he enjoyed Sherlock's tongue gently sliding into his mouth.

After a minute, John kissed Sherlock's cheek, then neck, then chest, then abdomen, then thigh.

"Oh!" Sherlock let out in shock, gasping. John's tongue had flickered out and wrapped around Sherlock's hard (and slightly already wet) dick. Sherlock was gasping for air as John started to stick his dick in his mouth. John tongue wrapped around it and Sherlock felt him start to suck, pressing the tip of his tongue against the opening in Sherlock.

-I'm going to die...- Sherlock thought as breathing became harder. -John Watson, solider doctor, love of my life.... is going to kill me with orgasm...- 

"John!" Sherlock gasped.

John could tell Sherlock was close to cuming. He never had anyone do it in his mouth before, he gripped Sherlock's sides harder. Sherlock's muscles tensed and he arched his back, cuming into John's mouth, basically screaming a moan.

John, all of it too much for him as well, jumped back, mouth full of Sherlock. He was gasping, trying to pull in more air.

"D-amn.." Sherlock moaned, gasping as well, eyes closed. 

John leaned his head back, trying to control all of what was in his mouth and, deciding it was too much, spit it out on the floor next to the couch. When he turned back, Sherlock was on top of him.

"Y-Your turn... b-babe..." Sherlock smiled, gasping still.

John just beamed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-The next day-

"...What do you think Sherlock?" Lestrade asked slowly, studying the crime sight then looking at Sherlock.

"Well, Lestrade..."

"Whoa..." Lestrade cut Sherlock off. "Whats that, Sherlock..?"

"Huh?"

Lestrade reached up and pulled Sherlock's scarf down slightly, revealing four fresh marks.

"Sherlock..." Lestrade smiled.

Sherlock just smiled and turned back to the crime at hand, but not before stealing a glance at his beautiful boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end. I wrote this during my first year of writing Sherlock fan-fic. And while I don't write as much anymore, I'm rounding the two and a half year mark. I think my writing has gotten better over the years, so if you enjoyed this, please check out some of my more recent works! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


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